The Good, the Bad and the Ghoulified
by ougabouga
Summary: Three vagabonds set off in the search of a haul of pre-war gold. Set in the aftermath of the NCR victory at the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. Ennio Morricone soundtrack recommended.
1. Chapter 1

**The Good, the Bad and the Ghoulified**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

"I didn't do nothin', I swear!" The Ghoul pleaded, a collar around his neck, his arms and legs shackled. His clothes were ragged, torn, decaying just like his skin. His captor pushed him forward, the Ghoul tripped and fell. He rolled downhill, dust and sand filtering into his decayed mouth as he cursed.

"You filthy smoothskin pandejo!"

The ghoul had barely stopped rolling when his captor grabbed him and roughly shoved him to his feet.

"On your feet, zombie brains. We still got a few miles to go before we camp for the night. And tomorrow, we walk some more, get into town, I get paid and you get hanged."

"Tell you what, smoothskin. You let me go, and I'll tell ya where you can find a shitload of pre-world gold, we'll split it 50-50."

His captor laughed.

They walked a few more miles until they came to a small ridge, adorned with a firepit and old picnic tables. They were surrounded by sharp peaks and deep valleys, the ground a dry orange hue, littered with rocks and too little vegetation. The ghoul's captor unhooked his rucksack and pulled out a bedroll kit, a caravan lunch and a water bottle. He started a fire. The ghoul struggled to sit down. For the first time since his capture, he was able to see his captor. He was in his mid 40s with piercing blue eyes. He wore a worn black cowboy hat that didn't fully hide the man's grey hair, and a black duster and jeans. His weapon of choice, beyond the Mesmetron, was a dusty cowboy repeater.

"Don't I get some?" The ghoul asked.

His captor rolled his eyes and began eating.

"What's your name, smoothskin?"

"Frank."

"Nice to meet you Frank, I'm Tuco Ramirez."

"I know who you are, dickweed. That's why we're going to town together. Tracking you was a piece of cake, easiest bounty I've ever had. I suggest you shut your yap, you're getting on my nerves as it is, you talking and trying to be friendly is just making it worse. You get on my nerves more, I just might accidentally shoot you in the leg."

Ramirez grumbled but kept quiet. He watched the sun gradually set as Frank ate his dinner. Frank kept some vigilance, constantly glancing around, his rifle at the ready. They could hear the echoed howls of coyotes but the only other sound was the cracking of the fire. Despite his anxiety, Ramirez drifted off to sleep, the full moon high in the sky above them.

Ramirez awoke at dawn. Across from him Frank's body lay on the ground, a peaceful expression on his face, oddly complemented by the red hole in his forehead and the pool of drying blood on the ground. Sitting on the picnic bench a few feet away from the body was another man, younger, fitter, wearing leather armour, cleaning his sniper rifle. He had dark hair and eyes, a round, weathered face and a mustache.

"Wakey-Wakey, sleeping beauty."

"What the fuck?"

"You still got the same deal, Ramirez. Just someone else is getting a nice payday. Name's McBain. Don't act like a jerk and I won't treat you like one."

"McBain, I know where there's..."

"A stash of pre-war gold? A vault filled with virgins? I've heard it before."

"I'm not bullshitting you!"

McBain shook his head. Finishing with his rifle, he lit a cigarette.

"Time's a wastin'. Let's go."

The town called itself P-Mont. What it was called before the war was forgotten. As was what this town had been before the war. Like many towns it was re-populated without consideration to the purpose of the settlement. Dusty streets, lined with houses, most of them old and crumbling. A small river bisected the town, it was too small to sustain mass agriculture, but it was enough to keep the local inhabitants fed and quenched. The town was deep in the valley, surrounded by peaks and mountains. The NCR had a presence here, sending out long-range patrols. Ramirez' miserable face was matched by many of the town's residents, and they attracted little attention.

The former police station was the NCR headquarters. It was rather small, though it bore great prominence amongst the modesty of the town surrounding it. The building was fully restored with clean windows, solid brick walls, a pole on the roof bearing the flag of a two-headed bear. Next to the door stood a poster, an NCR flag bearer hoisting the flag on Hoover Dam.

McBain led Ramirez inside. The air was cool and refreshing, an air conditioner hummed noisily. Tattered chairs were scattered around the lobby, some were occupied. An NCR sergeant was seated at the reception desk, a computer and dozens of pencils sticking out of a coffee cup. A few troopers were standing guard inside. Before them was a middle aged woman, wearing torn, worn clothes.

"I've been telling you! I don't have the money right now! How can I? You think I run a fucking casino? How do you expect me to have this money? But I can give you the money in instalments, that's it."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry." The sergeant began, his voice cold and detached. "But you're in significant arrears with compound interest. All outstanding monies must be paid in full before the end of the amortization period. That passed three days ago. Either you pay us the full outstanding amount, with the accumulated interest, or the property will escheat back to the NCR."

"I can pay you in instalments! I'm not some deadbeat trying to weasel out of his debts! Who the fuck do you think has 200, 000 caps lying around these days?!" The woman said, trembling with emotion.

"I understand ma'am, however the law is the law."

"Well the law is bullshit! Can't you exercise your own judgment?"

The sergeant breathed in deeply. "No, ma'am I can't. I'm sorry."

"You fucking NCR pukes! I bet if the Legion had won I wouldn't have to put up with this fucking bullshit! I'm going to lose my house, me and my kids are going to be homeless and you just there with a dumb blank look on your fucking face!" The sergeant nodded to one of his guards who quietly escorted the weeping woman out of the building.

"Can I help you?"

"Boy, you NCR types are real charmers." McBain quipped.

"You better watch that mouth of yours." The Sergeant warned.

"Fine. I'm here to claim a bounty. This here is Tuco Ramirez."

The Sergeant typed away on his computer.

"Yeah, that's him alright. The brass will be happy to know you're here. That's a big bounty. Damn, some of these charges are something: murder, sedition, kidnapping, espionage, larceny, assault... moral corruption of a youth? What's that one about?"

"I was a porn star in New Reno before they outlawed Ghoul Porn."

The sergeant shuddered. "Corporal, take this ghoul in for processing."

The Corporal took Ramirez away. The Sergeant produced some forms that McBain had to sign and fill-in. The sergeant started filling in some forms as well. Computer technology and nuclear Armageddon could not create a paperless society.

"Five thousand caps. That's a tidy sum. What are you gonna do with it?"

"Raise an army to get rid of you guys."

"Good luck with that. We dealt with the Legion, with the Brotherhood, there's nothing out there but random, petty mercs, tribals and warlords."

"Maybe there's something out there, bigger than you, that you haven't met yet."

"I doubt it. What started in a little village has spread to all of California, and beyond." McBain finished with the forms. He was used to dealing with NCR arrogance, more than most. The sergeant handed him a note.

"What's this?"

"A promissory note."

"A what note?"

"It's a note that if you take it to any recognized bank will give you the caps you've earned?"

McBain stared at the sergeant. "Buddy, do you know where the closest bank is?"

"55 miles."

"Exactly! What fucking good is this piece of paper here? I'm supposed to go 55 fucking miles just to get the money I'm owed? Fuck that! Give me the caps!"

"We don't have that many caps here."

"Bullshit! You give me my fucking money now!"

"Or what?" The sergeant said darkly, slowly rising from his chair. McBain could see in his peripheral vision NCR troopers reaching for their weapons.

"Fucking NCR! You guys make me wanna puke but you know what? You're not even worth the fucking vomit!"

McBain stormed off, leaving the promissory note on the table.

* * *

Ramirez was put in a cell with an outside view. There wasn't much to see but at least his shackles and collar were removed. The air was hot and stale. His bars faced southwards and so there was little shade. The cellblocks weren't air conditioned. His companions in the cellblock appeared to consist only of the local, petty rabble of drunkards and reprobates. He sighed as he sat down on the uncomfortable bench. He may be their prisoner, but he would never give them what they wanted.

It was nightfall, Ramirez was pacing in his cell, bored but relishing it. When the interrogators would come for him, his lazy days would be over. The night was calm and cool. He heard a tapping sound. He looked to the bars and was shocked to see McBain there, tying satchel charges onto the bars.

"What are you doing?" Ramirez whispered.

"Bustin' you out. Get away from the bars...and plug your ears."

Ramirez crouched as far away from the bars as he could get, he plugged his ears and closed his eyes. He waited for several seconds. He was beginning to think this was a cruel ruse when a force shoved him hard against the wall, his ears rang loudly. He stumbled to his feet, disoriented he stumbled his way towards the hole in his cell. McBain caught him as he tripped outside and steadied him. McBain was talking but Ramirez couldn't hear him but he followed him as they ran towards the hills.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

It took a few hours for the ringing in Ramirez' ears to die down. They'd been running since the prison break and the sun was rising in the sky. They stopped and had breakfast, some cold Gecko Steak, seasoned with Jalapenos and water.

"Muchos gracias amigo!" Ramirez said.

McBain nodded dully.

"So why'd you break me out?"

"NCR wouldn't pay me. So I thought I'd screw them over a little bit."

Ramirez grinned.

"Screwing over the NCR. There's a lot of people who'd like to do that."

"Yeah." McBain said, looking off in the distance.

"Hey amigo, I got an idea. I saw this an old movie. These two guys, they're kinda like us, one's a crook, the other's a…. whatever! Anyway, they have this scam going where the other guy keeps bringing the crook in from town to town, he gets the money, and then when the crook's about to hang, he saves him and they make a run for it, and split the money 50-50. We should do that!"

McBain shook his head. "Wouldn't work. The town would radio it to everybody so we'd both get caught if we tried that."

"But you do want to screw the NCR right?"

McBain shrugged, avoiding Ramirez' gaze.

"You do want lots of money right?"

McBain rolled his eyes. "Who the hell doesn't?"

"Aren't you curious why the NCR was promising to pay you so much for me?"

"Because you were a ghoul porn star. Reason enough for me."

"Hey, if you think that's bad amigo, you should see Super Mutant Porn. They call them Bighorners for a reason!"

McBain shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Look, amigo. It's because I found out where there's a ton of gold and pre-war loot, locked in an old vault."

McBain said nothing, but his skeptical frown said it all.

"NCR hired me and this prospector to find it. We had a map drawn up by some ex-Enclave guy on his deathbed who said he'd been there and seen it all for himself. He wanted his son to get it for himself, but his son turned it in to the NCR. What a puta!"

McBain's stoic skepticism remained.

"We were supposed to set out with a couple of NCR types disguised as caravaners. 'Cause this vault is in Cheyenne territory."

That caught McBain's attention.

"The night before we were supposed to meet the NCR types, this prospector tried to kill me. No big deal, I was gonna double cross him eventually. I couldn't bury the body so I high-tailed it from there. NCR started chasing me. Then you found me."

"Where's this map?" McBain asked.

"I burned it. I'd rather die than let NCR have it."

McBain laughed. "Pretty good story. But it ain't worth shit 'cause you don't have the map."

"I memorized it, amigo. I have a photographic memory, I'm good at remembering things."

McBain shook his head.

"You know what I was before the war? I was a stock broker. I worked long fucking hours, 14 hours a day, 6, 7 days a week, surrounded by numbers, formulas, insider info. I made money like you wouldn't fucking believe. I can still remember my first trade. Tuesday, October 15, 2071. 9:01 AM. Dumped 200 shares at $2.50 a pop of Westek, flipped it for 550 shares 95 cents a pop for RobCo and then 650 shares at $1.50 for RepConn. Five hours later they announced their merger. Two days later I dumped all those shares, net profit 5 million smackers. Boy, did I party that night! For my company I earned a net profit $534,337,219.23 in my six years there. Still not convinced?"

"No."

"Look, why else would NCR put such a huge bounty on me? I'm nobody. But they want all that gold and pre-war loot. Everyone's always looking for pre-war treasure. Especially the NCR, they're bleeding money and they're spreading like syphilis in a whorehouse. If they had real money, they would've paid you. They can't go in force 'cause its Cheyenne territory and it would attract attention. Indio and his forces would wipe the floor with them. So, they need a quiet way to go in."

Ramirez could tell it was working, McBain's skepticism was lessening.

"How are you supposed to get all this stuff out?"

"Pack-Brahmin's, we pose as caravaners in case any of the Cheyenne run into us."

"We split it 50-50?" McBain asked.

Ramirez smiled. "Si, amigo."

"How far is it?"

"Three days walking, tops."

McBain nodded.

"Alright, I'm in. But you so much as think about screwing me over, I'll bash your brains in."

"Hey, amigo! You saved my life! I'm very grateful! I wouldn't dream of it!"

"Good." McBain reached into his pocket and pulled out a map. "There's a village about 5 miles southeast. We'll grab a couple of Brahmins and start heading towards this vault."

"Excellent amigo! You won't regret this!"

* * *

A figure walked into the P-Mont police station, a cyberdog in his wake. Their presence alone caught everyone's attention. The figure wore combat armour similar to the one worn by NCR Rangers, but this was different, dark green, reinforced, a canteen attached to the belt holster, the helm was tinted red, an old world symbol on its side. He wore a rucksack, a strange combat knife buckled onto his belt and a sniper rifle, a variant of the common sniper rifle manufactured by the Gun Runners, only modified with a suppressor and some cosmetic touches. The figure walked to the desk sergeant and unhooked the mouthpiece but kept the helmet on; the face looked young but hard and unshaven.

"I'm here for the job."

"Have a seat." The sergeant eagerly said. He was young with a boyish, immature voice. He voice was grating, like he hadn't reached puberty yet.

The man sat down, the cyberdog kept an alert posture, not trusting the surrounding or its occupants.

The Sergeant looked at him, a strange, disbelieving smile on his face.

"It's you, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't." He replied, anger in his tone.

"You know, there's stories about you."

"They're all bullshit."

"Even the true ones?"

"Especially those."

"Nice gear. Where'd you get it?"

"None of your business."

"I almost wanna ask for your autograph." He chuckled nervously.

"Don't. What's the job?"

"You may have noticed a small hole in one of our holding cells?"

"It's about as small as Supermutant."

"We want you to catch two people. The prisoner and his accomplice. They escaped the night before last and were seen heading into the hills. The prisoner is Tuco Ramirez, here's the info we have on him." He handed the figure a brief with some documents.

"Nasty fellow, assuming this rap sheet is true."

"Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be? We want this one taken alive. His accomplice doesn't matter. Whatever's easier for you."

"What's the pay?"

"10,000 caps if you give us Ramirez alive. Half that if he's dead. The other one's worth a thousand, to cover the cost of fixing the wall."

"I'll need some of that up front. Actual caps, none of that note crap. You guys have screwed me over enough times that I've learned my lesson."

The sergeant frowned. "How have we screwed you over?"

The figure laughed bitterly.

"You don't want to go there."

"Okay… we'll give you 3,000 up front."

"Half or me and my friend here go, and you'll never see this Ramirez again."

"Fine." The sergeant sighed. He prepared a requisition form and gave it to one of his orderlies. The orderly went to the basement, into a sealed room. He prepared the caps, rolling them into paper rolls and placing those rolls into a medium sized container. After signing a few forms he brought the container to the front desk. The sergeant was continuing to stare oddly at the man sitting before him, engaging in futile attempts at a conversation. The man took the box and rose to his feet.

"Hey! You have to sign for that!"

"I ain't signin' nothin'" He started walking out.

"Wait! Can I at least get your name?" The sergeant whined, holding the unfilled release form in his hand.

He stopped at the threshold of the doorway. He waited for a few moments before turning to face the sergeant. Even though he couldn't see his eyes, the sergeant felt his withering stare.

"Name's Morden. Mr. Morden to you."

He walked away, but not before spitting on the poster celebrating the victory at the second battle of Hoover Dam.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

The village was small, a dozen homesteads, spread out, medium sized homes and shacks twinned with fields for grazing livestock and crops. A couple figures were standing watch. Ramirez and McBain caught their attention as they walked down the hill into the valley. McBain and Ramirez made sure to keep their hands visible and posture non threatening. McBain had his rifle slung over his back but Ramirez was still unarmed. Ramirez didn't like that, it left him in a position of weakness, not just towards his partner, but towards the wasteland. He knew McBain didn't trust him and McBain wasn't pretending to act otherwise.

"So, how are we getting ourselves these Brahmin?" Ramirez asked.

"Make them an offer." McBain said.

"What if they refuse?"

"Then I make them a different offer. Every man has his price."

"How many caps do you have on you?"

"A few hundred."

"That won't buy us a Brahmin, amigo."

"We'll see."

"Howdy!" One of the guards shouted as they approached the outskirts of the village. Both guards converged on them, eyes alert, their hands on their Varmint Rifles.

"What's the purpose of your visit to Sandstone?"

"We're making a prospecting trip. We have a bit of a lead, we were hoping to buy a Brahmin." McBain said.

The guards looked at them for a few moments, sizing them up.

"Now, why would we sell any of our Brahmin?" The first guard asked. The two stood dozens of feet apart, making them a harder target for anyone rash enough to attack them. They kept their rifles readied at waist level, holding them with casual confidence.

"Share the wealth." McBain cracked dryly.

"Commie pandejo." Ramirez whispered.

"Your ghoul friend has got the right idea." The first guard said. He looked to be in his 40s, tall and well built; he eyed them suspiciously.

"We don't like competition, my friend here and I are prospectors too." The second guard said, he was younger but his gait betrayed no youthful inexperience or naivety.

"What if we paid you?" McBain asked.

The older guard chuckled. "Unless you broke the bank at all the casinos in New Vegas and New Reno, you wouldn't have enough. Then nearest ranch is 15 miles away and they ain't cheap. If you really had enough money, you wouldn't be here."

"Maybe we can borrow one." Ramirez suggested.

The guards laughed.

"We'll give you a down payment, and when we come back in a week or so, we'll give you five times that amount, plus 10% of what we score."

"That's a good one. What do you think, Sheldon?" The older guard said.

"Sounds like a bad joke. A human, a ghoul and a Brahmin walk into a whorehouse to suck on some teets. "

Both guards laughed.

"I think you two best stop laughing." McBain said coolly.

The older guard wasn't impressed. "I think you two best scram. I heard on the radio that the NCR is on the lookout for a ghoul and a human travelling together. That sticks out like a sore thumb out here. You ain't done no harm to us so we got nothin' against you. Best keep it that way. Adios zombie brains."

"You filthy smoothskin puta!" Ramirez cursed.

Sheldon cocked his rifle and pointed it at Ramirez.

"Keep talkin' you spic zombie. It's been a while since I blew some ghoul brains. My finger is gettin' mighty twitchy. I bet I killed some of your relatives. It's hard to tell, they all look alike."

"You know, you look familiar, pandejo. I think I fucked your great grandma's ass in a whorehouse before the war."

Now the older guard pointed his rifle at Ramirez. Though they all squinted due to the wind and the bright sun, all stared hardly at another. McBain's rifle was slung over his shoulder and Ramirez was totally unarmed, they wouldn't stand a chance, but that never showed in their defiant eyes.

"You best leave."

"You insulted my friend here. You best apologize before things get nasty."

Sheldon laughed.

"You hear that Cooke? He's threatnin' us it might get nasty."

"You guys got feet, walk." Cooke said.

"You want an apology? I'll give you a hollow point apology." Sheldon said.

There was a thick silence as they continued to stare darkly at another, the wind blowing thick dust.

McBain sighed casually. "Alright, I guess we'll go then."

"Huh?" Ramirez exclaimed.

McBain said nothing and began walking off. The two guards started laughing. Ramirez, fuming, ran after McBain.

"You pig!" He shouted.

"Relax. You can't go flying off the handle every time someone calls you names."

"Easy for you to say, smoothskin! You know what it's like to be called a zombie? To have people make fun of you right in your face? The dirty looks I get just for existing? I used to live like a fucking king and now look at me! I put up with a lot of shit, but I don't like getting called names!"

"So, how does some payback sound?"

"Sounds fucking good."

"We'll keep walking 'till we're over this ridge. We'll wait until nightfall, then we'll pay them a visit."

Ramirez grinned.

"I like the sound of that amigo. Maybe I can get myself a gun, huh amigo?"

McBain looked at him sternly.

"Don't bet on it."

Ramirez feigned offence, touching his hands to his chest. "You don't trust me, eh amigo?"

"No."

"Look, I'm worried about Radscorpions and Cazadores. We're gonna have to stay off the roads, right? That's where all the critters are. It'll be easier if we're both armed than if it's just you. And look at your rifle. It's really nice but it won't do much good if you've got a pack of Cazadores rushing towards you."

"Alright, alright." McBain sighed. "Once we're in town we'll find you something. Just be careful where you point it, otherwise I might get the wrong idea."

"No worries amigo!"

They passed over the crest of the ridge and waited for the sun to come down. They ate, drank and rested some, though they were mostly bored waiting for nightfall. Building a fire would give them away. They talked little, Ramirez was starting to get used to McBain's terseness. Ramirez passed the time by digging the ground at his feet. As he dug deeper he could see fissures, holes and tunnels created by worms or some other subterranean creature. It made him think about the terrible creatures that stalked the wasteland. Cazadores in the air, Deathclaws and Radscorpions on the ground. Were there any such creatures underground? He shuddered and buried the thought.

They crept towards the village, hugging the ground. Ramirez followed behind McBain. They stopped at the crest of the ridge, McBain viewed the village through his telescopic scope. Ramirez felt useless. He had no weapons, not even a pair of binoculars. Should something go awry, he would be defenceless and at the mercy of those who would show him none.

"What's it look like?" Ramirez asked.

"Looks like our friendly guards are heading in for the night. We're gonna take the house nearest to us. I want you to pull the gate down and grab a couple of Brahmins. I'll go in the house and take care of anyone, and grab us some supplies."

"Why this house?"

"It's the one where your friend lives."

"Good." Ramirez grinned wickedly. Then his grin faded. "Wait! Where do I go once I got the Brahmin?"

"Head up the road half a mile, then up into the hills on the east. I'll meet you there. Try to be quiet."

"Good plan amigo!" Ramirez enthused and then his putrefying smile died. "Hey… wait a second. Brahmin aren't exactly quiet."

McBain said nothing and started climbing down the hill. Ramirez trailed after him. Their target house was a few hundred yards away and below them. It was small but the enclosure where a dozen Brahmin stood resting was quite large.

Once clear of the hill they crouched. McBain would pace forward a few steps and then stop, look and listen. He repeated this until they reached the outer fence. Ramirez followed behind McBain, doing his best to keep hidden and quiet. They crept along the steel fence until they came to the gate. It was held closed by a pad locked chain. McBain pulled a flat head screwdriver and bobbypin out of his pocket. It took a minute before the lock was picked. McBain delicately unwrapped the chain, cautious lest the unravelling cause any loud noise. The gate was slowly pushed open. It creaked but only briefly.

The house had a backdoor that opened into the enclosure. The lights were on in one room, probably the bedroom. McBain reached the door to the house. He looked behind him and saw Ramirez leading a couple of Brahmins by a rope. They were both laden with saddles, and that meant one less thing to worry about. They were being quiet so far, but that probably wouldn't last. McBain stared at the light coming out of the window for half a minute, allowing his eyes to get used to the light. Then he grabbed the doorknob and slowly twisted it. It turned without resistance. That was the thing about country folks, they rarely locked their doors.

Slowly he pushed the door open. Faintly he heard a radio. The door opened up into the kitchen and he slowly crept in, his rifle at the ready. Light was streaming in, coming from the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and made his way towards the bedroom, judging every step, careful to make no noise. The bedroom door was half-opened. Despite the music, he could hear loud grunting and moaning sounds. This would give Ramirez something to chuckle about.

He stood, holding his rifle at the waist he slowly pushed the door open. Sheldon and Cooke were in bed together, engrossed in themselves, too involved to notice him. McBain aimed his rifle and fired, Sheldon collapsed and went limp. Cooke was just realizing something was awry when McBain finished reloading his rifle.

"I told you you should've apologized." He cracked. Cooke scrambled, trying to push Sheldon's dead body off him hand, his hand reached for the bedside table, where a pistol lay. McBain laughed and pulled the trigger, killing Cooke.

McBain grabbed the pistol Cooke had reached for and then closed the door and quickly started looting the house. There wasn't much but he took anything with a modicum of value. Cigarettes, booze, dishes, books, food, detergent, cleaner. If they were to pass as traders, it would help if their Brahmins were loaded with gear. He heard the village beginning to stir, people knocking on the door. He grabbed their varmint rifles, slung his pack over his shoulder and then ran out the back door. He headed from the hill from which he'd came. He heard the loud shouts and curses of the villagers as they realized what he'd done. He looked behind him but didn't see anyone coming after him, nor did he see anyone armed. A clean getaway, he bet Ramirez would be happy with what they pulled off.

* * *

Morden arrived into the village late in the afternoon. His cyberdog had some trouble catching the scent of the two men at first, but once he got the scent there was no wavering or uncertainty. They kept a brisk pace, hardly stopping since they'd set out from P-Mont. He saw a burial service being conducted, two bodies, wrapped in bloodied cloth, being laid into the earth. He only had one question to ask and he waited for the small ceremony to end before approaching the village. An armed sentry and a healthy German Shepherd watched him keenly.

"Stop right there!" He shouted when Morden got close enough.

"What's your business?"

"I'm after the guys who did that." He said.

"Are you the bounty hunter the NCR told us about?"

"When did this happen" Morden said curtly, as if there were something he was trying to avoid acknowledging.

"Last night, around 9:30."

"Thanks. I'll be off."

"Hey, don't you wanna know where they went?"

"My friend here knows that already."

Morden sent off, following his cyberdog, keenly tracking the scent of their prey.

"You hear that, Rex, we're getting closer."

The cyberdog barked happily, sensing what its master had said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

"What was that movie called?" McBain asked. It had been a day since they'd acquired their brahmin. He'd given Ramirez a Varmint Rifle. It was better than nothing and it had improved Ramirez' mood. But it would do little good if they stumbled across a pack of Cazadores. This led to them walking more carefully, watchfully, slowing their progress.

"Huh?"

"That movie you were talking about?"

"Oh…I forgot the name of it."

"Thought you said you had a photographic memory."

"Hey, amigo. Some things are easier to remember than others. Like important things. I'm 256 years old, my memory' s better than a smoothskin a third of my age."

It was very late in the afternoon and they would soon have to rest for the night. Ahead of them they spied an old shack. What it was doing here in the mountains was uncertain. It had a nice view of the valley below but it's more prosaic purpose was a mystery. There was a small well nearby, but no farmland or grazing animals.

"What do you think it's doing here?" Ramirez asked.

McBain said nothing as they neared the shack. He drew his rifle and encircled it, his eyes scanning for mines or any traps. He didn't find any. There was a firepit and a stack of firewood, but the firepit looked unused, He looked in the windows but couldn't see anything. He met Ramirez at the front door.

Ramirez went ahead a knocked.

The door opened moments later. It was opened by an elderly man, his face sandblasted and withered.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"We're a couple of travellers." McBain began, trying to keep his voice pleasant. "We'd like a place to rest for the night, if you'd be so kind."

"Mayhap we may. It's been so long since my wife and I had guests. We have my grandson drop off food for us, but he comes by only so often. And less often it seems. Oh, where's my manners? Babbling again! Why don't you two come on in."

"I'm Donald Griffin. Who might you fine gentlemen be?"

"I'm Yuan Ramirez. Nice to meet you, sir."

"McBain's the name."

"Don't have a first name? Mother didn't like ya? Ah, don't worry about it!"

The interior was a single room, rustic and dirty. Sunlight poured in from the windows, the shack was obscenely bright. The cracked wooden floors were littered with dust and debris, the wooden walls were pockmarked with small holes. There was a single double bed, an oven, an unconnected fridge, a single table and a handful of chairs. In the far corner a woman sat motionless on a rocking chair. An old radio crackled with pre war music. The tables and chairs were littered with old books and rotting food. There was a bed side table that held framed pictures. One picture had Mr. and Mrs. Griffin in younger, happier times surrounded by two adult children, a woman and a man. McBain recognized him as Sheldon. Another picture was of the same young woman in an NCR uniform, next to that picture was an urn. McBain paled. The house stank of mold, body odour and another smell, McBain couldn't identify. It had a texture of something rotting or decomposing, and it wasn't Ramirez.

"Ellen, we have some guests." Mr. Griffin announced.

There was no answer. Ellen Griffin sat motionless in a rocking chair, her eyes blankly open, her mouth agape. A spider crawled over her face and Mrs. Griffin paid no heed.

"She's just napping." He explained.

"Yeah." McBain said uneasily.

"She's... muerto." Ramirez whispered.

"She's just napping!" Mr. Griffin insisted.

"Sorry about my friend here, he sometimes says funny things." McBain said.

"That's true about most people, especially ghouls. Oh... I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm Donald Griffin. This is my wife of 55 years Ellen. What are your names?"

"Yuan Ramirez."

"McBain." His steely voice was uneasy, his posture suddenly slacked.

"Mighty nice to meet ya." Mr. Griffin shook both their hands, his handshake with Ramirez was noticeably brief.

"Are you here to drop off food? My grandson sometimes drops off food. But I haven't seen him in... a long time. When you get my age you don't keep track of the days because they're all the same."

"Sure, we got some food for ya." McBain said, reaching into his rucksack and pulling out some canned food. He nodded to Ramirez who was frowning.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you."

"Your grandson sent us, Mr. Griffin. He's busy but he'll be with you soon. We'll... eh, we'll be going now." McBain said uneasily and grabbed Ramirez out of the shack.

"Thank you for visiting and the food. Ellen and I will have a hearty feast tonight."

McBain breathed a sigh of relief and shook his head. "Let's go!" He hurriedly set off.

"What the hell was that?" Ramirez exclaimed, catching up to his companion. McBain said nothing.

"Hey, amigo? What the hell? We could've had a nice place to spend the night. All we had to do was kill the old guy and drag the bodies outside!"

"Shut up." McBain said tersely.

Ramirez sighed. They walked for another hour before setting camp. McBain kept watch for the entire night, his conscience wouldn't allow him any rest tonight.

* * *

Morden came upon the shack. Judging by their footprints, they circled the shack, came in and left. The prints were fairly fresh. There was light coming from inside the shack and he heard music. He grabbed for his sidearm and went in the shack.

"Oh, hi there. Ellen, we have another guest." Mr. Griffin greeted Morden at the door. Morden shook Mr. Griffin's hand and took off his helmet.

"I'm Donald Griffin. This here is my wife of 55 years, Ellen."

"Hi, Mrs. Griffin." Morden said. Her silence confused him. He looked uneasily at Ellen and realized why she was mute.

"My wife's just napping. My grandson sent us a couple of friends with some food. That's a nice dog you got there. Though I prefer the old fashion kind. "

"When did these friends drop by?" Morden asked.

"Oh, I think it was yesterday... No, maybe it was a few hours ago... Or... I'm not sure. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm having a senior's moment."

Morden looked around the shack and his eyes landed upon the pictures on the bedside table. He strode towards it and his eyes landed upon the urn, and the picture of the NCR soldier.

"Your granddaughter?" Morden asked.

"Yes, she died at Hoover Dam fighting against those Legion scums. I miss her. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her." His eyes moistened.

Morden grabbed the picture frame. "I knew her. I was her... friend." Morden said, his voice straining to sound as stoic as always.

"You served together?"

"Yeah, sorta... I saw her die."

Mr. Griffin fixed him with his eyes.

"All I got was a letter from the NCR saying she died there. I hear there's a monument in Vegas with all the people who died at the second Dam battle but my Valerie's name isn't there. They never told me why!" His voice seethed with anger and sadness.

"Did she die well?"

"Yeah. She took a couple of Legionaries down. A... legion sniper got her." Morden broke away from Mr. Griffin's gaze.

"What happened to the man who killed her?"

"I killed him." Morden said, looking back at Mr. Griffin. That much was true.

"I still have all Valerie's letters...I read them every once in a while, I can still hear her voice. Her last letter, I got it after I got the letter from the NCR... said she was scared about fighting at Hoover Dam but she was happy because she found a boyfriend. A real fine lad by the sounds of it. He wasn't military though... some kind of... caravan guard or something...oh, I can't remember."

"You take care of yourself, Mr. Griffin." Morden said, putting his helmet back on. He patted Mr. Griffin on the back and left the shack. Rex rubbed his head against Morden's leg. Morden patted the cyberdog on its head.

"Thanks Rex. I couldn't tell him it was friendly fire." He kicked the dirt at his feet.

"It still pisses me off they treated her like that!"

He looked at the setting sun and sighed.

"Come on. Let's go Rex." And he and his cyberdog set off in pursuit of their quarry.

After saying goodbye to his guest Mr. Griffin went to his bedside table and pulled the drawer open. He pulled out a pile of letters, the papers worn and filled with small tears. He read through each letter, hearing his late granddaughter's warm voice in every word. He came to the last letter.

"Ah! That's it! That's what her boyfriend was! A courier!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

McBain and Ramirez set off with their Brahmins before dawn. They made their way towards lower ground. The hills were getting higher, steeper and less traversable. The border between the NCR and the Cheyenne's was nearby, miles to the west. To the south, distant storm clouds could be seen on the horizon.

"Is that the Divide, way down there?" Ramirez asked. McBain said nothing.

"Let me tell you, amigo." Ramirez teased. "I had a great night's sleep. How about you?"

McBain continued to walk, staring straight ahead, trying to ignore his companion.

"Didn't sleep well? Why not, haha?"

McBain's silence persisted. "What's bothering you?" Ramirez mocked. "Have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other? Is that your conscience bothering you? Ha! I didn't figure you for a sap, McBain. I thought you were a hardass mano. I guess not, you're softer than..."

McBain spun around and landed a punch square on Ramirez' putrefied nose. The force knocked Ramirez back and he landed hardly on his back. McBain turned around and continued to walk on, holding the Brahmin's leash in one hand. Ramirez swore. It had been a long time since he'd been hit that hard. He rubbed what was left of his nose and felt the skin tearing. "Hostia!" He swore and gathered himself, swiping away the dust on his clothes. He ran until he caught up with McBain.

"You made your point, amigo. Only don't expect me to apologize."

By midday they made their way out of the mountain pass and onto the gravel roads. The roads were deserted. The sun was high in the sky with nary a cloud in sight. McBain walked silently, smoking nearly constantly and keeping a watchful eye around them. This would be a perfect spot for a Radscorpion, or worse, to ambush them. Ramirez disliked the silence, but he didn't want to get another punch in the nose. He might have to ditch him earlier than he'd planned.

They walked for two more hours before the border station came into view. The roads became more and more populated as they neared it and they found themselves exchanging curt greetings with passers-by. Pre-War the border station had been a series of toll booths for a highway. Now it marked the limit of NCR territory, beyond it was the land controlled by the Cheyenne's. The booths were manned by NCR troops on one side of the frontier, and by Cheyenne's on the other. A river ran parallel to the road, miles and miles away it emptied out into the Pacific. A few miles away from the border post stood a small village, populated by the NCR and a few farmers under their protection.

On the NCR side the crossing was low-tech, there were no cameras or turrets or robots. It was purely manned and operated by humans. There was a small lineup but it moved with intolerable sloth. Around them people complained of the delays. Ramirez and McBain were nervous. Had the NCR radioed this station? How widely were their likenesses distributed? Having to bolt from the NCR territory at a border crossing would catch the Cheyenene's attention and with what they were searching for, that would only harm them. It was the longest hour of their lives before Ramirez and McBain were ready to be processed. A trooper inspected their Brahmin.

"You NCR citizens?" The border guard asked. His voice was weary and his eyes betrayed the strain of working an unrewarding and monotonous job.

"No." Ramirez said. McBain shook his head.

"You Cheyenne's then?"

They nodded.

The guard sighed. "I guess you don't have passports then. What was the purpose of your visit to the NCR?"

"Business." McBain said.

"And how long were in NCR territory for?"

"About 2 weeks." Ramirez said.

"Do you have a caravanning licence?"

"We didn't know we needed one. So we applied for one." Ramirez said.

"Right. Go on. Next." The guard said wearily.

Ramirez and McBain waited until they passed the border before sighing in relief. "We made it." Ramirez said softly. "Let's go to the inn. We can stay the night and get shitfaced."

McBain said nothing but followed Ramirez. The Cheyenne's side of the border was in sharp contrast to the NCR's side. It was lined with sentry bots, cyberdogs, paved roads, street lights. Off in the distance a couple of hover tanks were parked. The Cheyenne troops were wearing advanced Combat Armour and yielding a formidable array of combat and assault rifles. Just past the border posts was the Crossroads Inn. They tied their Brahmin to a post and went inside.

The inn was bursting with activity. The bar was nearly packed as was the dining area. The brothel in the back was doing brisk business as well. Ramirez went to work, booking two rooms and then made a beeline towards the bar. McBain followed him, though with less enthusiasm. Ramirez ordered himself Gecko Steak and Whiskey. McBain pulled out a new cigarette and ordered a scotch. He wasn't hungry tonight. Ramirez was quickly drunk and after finishing his steak excused himself and went to the brothel. McBain stayed at the bar, nursing his Scotch.

* * *

Morden saw them in the lineup, a hundred feet ahead of him. There was no doubting their identity. He was glad they made it through customs; it further confirmed how corrupt and useless the NCR was. It would further guarantee his bounty. He was curious what they were up to. The Cheyenne's would leave them all alone, so he was free to track his prey and trap them at his leisure. He noted their progress and was relieved they were stopping off at the inn. It would be nice to sleep under a roof and fill up his water canteens. There was another dog in the lineup ahead of them. A terrier. The terrier and Rex played with another until the terrier's owner passed through the border.

He was happier they'd descended from the mountain passes. At dawn only a dozen or so treacherous miles to the south had laid the Divide. A place he dreaded and hoped would never see again. Here its treacherous storm clouds couldn't be seen. Out of sight. Out of mind.

"You an NCR citizen?" The border guard asked him.

Morden pulled out his passport from his pocket. The guard looked at him and his passport. The guard looked a second time at his passport and then looked at a piece of paper on his desk. _Shit_ Morden thought. _They flagged me._

"What's the purpose of your visit?"

"Business."

"How long will you be in Cheyenne territory for?"

"A week."

The guard handed his passport back. "Thank you. Have a good trip." Rather than wave the next person through, the guard left his post and walked over to the NCR's guardroom. Morden cursed and made his way towards the inn.

"Looks like we're gonna get followed." He said. Rex growled.

The terrier Rex had played with earlier was loitering near the entrance to the inn. The two canines renewed their playful interaction. Morden went inside. He spotted McBain sitting at the bar but couldn't see Ramirez. He set himself in the dining area. The window in front of him reflected back inside the inn and towards the bar. Morden watched McBain as he ate while outside two dogs, one organic and the other cyber, barked and played happily.


End file.
